The World Is Different Now
by Bliss Jones
Summary: Michael is sent on a mission that turns his world upside down. Still written in script-style. **ACT II added.**
1. Teaser

Disclaimers: "Now and Again" and its characters belong to Glenn Gordon Caron, Picturemaker Productions, and CBS. New characters belong to me. No copyright infringement is intended. I'm just paying homage.  
  
Author's Note: This is done in script style, but because it's a text file it looks different. The sentences in *s, ( ), and [ ] are all actions.  
  
  
  
  
  
THE WORLD IS DIFFERENT NOW  
***  
  
  
TEASER  
INT. EARLY EVENING. *A dark room with scientific equipment. A rainstorm rages outside, complete with thunder and lightening. The sound of typing is heard in the background. The only light comes from a computer screen and the occasional blast of lightening that illuminates the room for a split second from the well windows. A young man, MILES, in his mid- twenties, wearing jeans, T-shirt, flannel shirt, glasses, is working feverishly over the keyboard, continually typing at a furious pace and checking his notes every now and again. The expression on his face is determined, bright, highly energetic. He begins to type faster, and his mouth opens wide as he attempts to take in enough air to contain his excitement.*  
  
  
MILES (to himself)  
I don't believe this. I-I can't...  
  
*He stops typing and leans away from the computer, stunned. He strokes his face in amazement.*  
  
Oh, my God. (a pause as he continues to stare at the screen)  
I've done it. I've actually done it.  
  
*He grabs the phone and hits speed-dial. A beat*:  
Yeah, this is Miles. I need to talk to him right away.   
  
  
CUT TO:  
INT. SAME NIGHT. WISEMAN KITCHEN. *LISA and HEATHER WISEMAN, seated at the kitchen table, are laughing while their dinner plates now lay empty. This is a real mother-daughter moment, and not of the sappy variety.*  
  
  
LISA  
And your father just stood there the entire time, knee deep, as the water kept rising higher and higher from the burst pipe, watching you in your little bathing suit wading around down there. You used to be so cute.  
  
*Heather giggles, remembering, but quite quickly her face turns extremely grave. Lisa notices right away.*   
  
Honey? What's wrong?  
  
  
HEATHER (slowly, ashamed, her gaze down)  
I-I can't remember.  
  
  
LISA  
You were, I don't know, six years old. It was a long time ago.  
  
  
HEATHER  
No. It's not that. I can't remember what color his eyes...were.  
  
*Her last words crush her. It's totally hitting her now. Her eyes gradually fill up.*  
  
I'm sorry. Mom, I'm...  
  
  
*Lisa gets up from her chair, throws her napkin on her plate, and kneels next to Heather's seat. She holds Heather's hands in her own. She knows her daughter is hurting, displaying this level of emotion. She hesitates for a moment.*  
  
  
LISA  
They're blue, Heather. They were blue.  
  
*She takes her daughter into her arms as Heather falls apart.*   
  
I know sweetheart. It's...[unable to finish] I know. But just think. I'm sure that wherever your dad is right now, he's happy.  
  
  
CUT TO:  
INT. SAME NIGHT. ABANDONED, BURNED OUT APARTMENT BUILDING. *With a pained expression plastered on his face and completely drenched, MICHAEL WISEMAN, hero extraordinaire, runs up a dilapidated stairwell, which looks as if it could fall apart at any moment, at his Michael Jordan speed. He is chasing an ARMED MAN, who is a few flights above him. The lightening continues to roar.*  
  
  
MICHAEL (into his hidden microphone)  
Doc? This guy is getting away from me.  
  
  
DR. MORRIS (V.O.)  
You've only been chasing him for 1/2 a mile, Mr. Wiseman. I have every confidence in the world that you will come out victorious. The authorities should be here at any moment.  
  
  
MICHAEL (still running up the stairs)  
Well, that's a relief. I'm not quite sure how much more rained on I could possibly get. There was a minute back there I thought I was melt-  
  
*He stops short at a distressing sound and turns around.*  
  
  
EXT. STREET. DR. MORRIS, under his umbrella, stands in front of the limo, talking into his microphone.   
  
  
DR. MORRIS (cupping his hand to his ear)  
Mr. Wiseman? Is everything all right?  
  
  
INT. STAIRWELL. *CLOSEUP on Michael, losing his balance, as the wood below him collapses.*  
  
  
MICHAEL  
Doc? [as he falls] DO-OC?  
  
*A crashing thud is heard, followed by:*  
  
OW!  
  
END OF TEASER  
MAIN CREDITS  
  
  
  



	2. Act I

Disclaimers: Same as in Teaser.  
  
Spoilers: A Girl's Life  
  
  
ACT I  
  
  
INT. FIRST FLOOR OF APARTMENT BUILDING. *POV of Michael, who is flat on his back, as he stares upward into the hole he just fell through. It is dark and empty until a flashlight is shined in his face.*  
  
  
DR. MORRIS (towering over him, holding the flashlight)  
Mr. Wiseman? Get up, Mr. Wiseman.  
  
  
*Michael remains motionless, not wanting to move, reminiscent of a similar scene in "A Girl's Life."*   
  
  
MICHAEL (clearly pained)  
From now on - and I don't care how much it costs the government in extra salaries - I want two guys following me around wherever I go with padding. Big, cushy padding. Like the kind stuntmen fall onto.   
  
  
DR. MORRIS (rolling his eyes)  
Get up, Mr. Wiseman...  
  
  
MICHAEL (interrupting)  
I mean it this time, Doc. [he slowly and carefully pulls himself up] I'm still waiting for my government issue parachute.  
  
  
DR. MORRIS (leaving the scene)  
Come along, Mr. Wiseman.  
  
  
EXT. OUTSIDE THE APARTMENT BUILDING. *Police vehicles are now on the scene, and official personnel go about arresting the armed man in the background as Dr. Morris emerges from the building with Michael lagging behind. An agent, carrying an open umbrella, steps up to Dr. Morris and hands him his cell phone while covering him with the umbrella. Dr. Morris takes the phone and listens intently. Michael, in the meantime, still soaking, sends angry glances in Dr. Morris' directions before leaning against the limo.*  
  
  
DR. MORRIS (speaking into the phone)  
Yes.  
  
  
MICHAEL (wiping the rain off his face)  
Oh, that's okay. I'm fine. Great, really.  
  
  
DR. MORRIS (ignoring Michael)  
Yes... Okay...Yes...I understand.   
  
  
MICHAEL  
No problem. I'll just stand here, catch pneumonia, which will be fine since I'll be sick for - what - only a couple of hours? Or am I immune to that, too, along with the other gazillion diseases you and your mad scientist friends made sure wouldn't slow me down while I'm protecting truth, justice, and the American way?   
  
DR. MORRIS (motions to the agent to go to the truck and holds the umbrella himself)  
We'll have that taken care of in no time...Thank you, sir.  
  
*He turns off his phone, replaces it in his pocket, and walks toward Michael.*  
  
  
MICHAEL  
I love how you say, "We'll take care of that." "We'll go on that mission and we'll risk our butts." "We." [sighs] Never lose that sense of humor.  
  
  
DR. MORRIS  
Mr. Wiseman...  
  
  
CUT TO:  
INT. SAME NIGHT/WEATHER. HEATHER'S BEDROOM. *Heather is on her bed surrounded by books and papers. She is trying not to pay attention to the storm outside, but finally, she gets up and goes to close her window. It sticks.*  
  
  
LISA (appearing at the door)  
Need any help?  
  
  
HEATHER (still pushing down on the window)  
No, I've... got...it.   
*With the final word, the window slams down, making Lisa jump.*  
  
  
LISA  
Glad to see you're an independent woman.   
  
*She waits to see a smile from Heather that doesn't come. She sits on the bed, pushing some books to the side.*  
  
You okay?  
  
*As Heather sits down, too, Lisa brushes some hairs out of her daughter's face.*  
  
  
HEATHER  
I'm fine, Mom. The weather-I don't know-I don't like the weather.  
  
  
LISA (understanding somewhat)  
Are you sure that's all? We could talk, you know.  
  
*Heather looks up at her mother. Her gaze is lasting, all-telling. Her eyes scream, "I can't stand not being able to control anything. I want to stop feeling so empty. I want to cry in your arms for hours while you tell me everything is going to be all right. I want my old life back. I want everything to change." Her eyes fall downward.*  
  
  
HEATHER (quietly)  
I'm fine.   
  
  
LISA (reluctantly)  
Okay. [gets off the bed] Don't stay up too late.  
  
  
HEATHER  
I won't. [as she resumes her work]  
  
  
LISA (at the door)  
Heather?  
  
  
HEATHER (looking up)  
Yeah, Mom?  
  
  
LISA  
I love you. [she swallows hard]  
  
  
HEATHER  
I know.  
  
*Lisa hesitates a moment longer at the doorway, then walks away. Heather looks at the window as a streak of lightening catches her attention.*  
  
  
CUT TO:  
INT./EXT. PARKED LIMO/AREA IN FRONT OF BUILDING. *The doctor is in his usual spot nestled inside the limo. The occasional red police light passes through the car. Michael, meanwhile, is outside the limo, still soaking. He knocks on the tinted window. Dr. Morris rolls it down.*  
  
  
DR. MORRIS  
Can I help you?  
  
  
MICHAEL  
Doc, c'mon! This is cruel and unusual punishment.  
  
  
*He rests his arms on the lower frame of the window. Dr. Morris stares at this and waits.*  
  
  
MICHAEL (realizing)  
Oh, for crying out loud!   
  
  
*He jerks his arms back and steps away from the car, throwing his hands up in the air. Dr. Morris rolls the window back up. Michael walks behind the limo, fed up. AGENT #1 appears from the Toys 'B Fun truck with his own umbrella, carrying with him a waterproof bag. He hands the bag to Dr. Morris who has since rolled down his window again, then walks over to Michael. He holds the umbrella over Michael as the agent opens the other car door.*  
  
  
MICHAEL (to Agent #1 before climbing into the car)  
I hate you.  
  
  
INT. LIMO. *Michael's seat in the limo is covered with navy blue towels so that not an inch of him gets the leather interior wet. He is still annoyed and shakes his hair out, like a wet dog does to its fur, to spite the doctor. Dr. Morris sits calmly in his seat as the limo pulls away. The bag is now discarded on the floor, and Dr. Morris holds a file in his lap.*  
  
  
DR. MORRIS (off Michael's looks)  
No sense in damaging government property with watermarks, now is it?  
  
  
MICHAEL (drying off his hair with a towel)  
What about this government property? [indicating himself]  
  
  
DR. MORRIS (ignoring him, opens the file)  
We're making a detour tonight before going back to the townhouse.  
  
  
MICHAEL  
See, again there you go with all this "we" business. "We" will not be doing anything. [he gestures between himself and Dr. Morris]. You [points to Dr. Morris] will remain safe and warm while I [points to himself] will continue to suffer on this never-ending dark and stormy night.  
  
  
DR. MORRIS  
Now, that you're got that out of your system, you [with emphasis] have another job to do.  
  
  
MICHAEL  
This better show up on my overtime check.  
  
  
DR. MORRIS  
This project has been asked to deal with a one Miles Friedman.  
  
*He hands Michael a photograph of Miles, of what could only be from be high school, braces, thick glasses, pimples and all.*  
  
  
MICHAEL (taking the photo)  
Whoa, I didn't think they made them that nerdy anymore. Wait, let me guess, his parents have finally had enough and need me to get their "Star Trek" fan-club-dues-paying son out of their basement?  
  
  
DR. MORRIS  
Not quite. [hands Michael black and white surveillance photos of Miles entering and exiting a warehouse] From his college transcripts and testing scores, Mr. Friedman could very well be one of the greatest scientific minds of our time.  
  
  
MICHAEL  
You jealous?  
  
  
DR. MORRIS  
Mr. Wiseman, please. His specialty, from what could loosely be pieced together, is identifying and then manipulating fragile folds in the spaces between an inter-dimensional continuum in the hopes of creating a stable...   
  
  
MICHAEL (interrupting)   
English, Doc? English?  
  
  
DR. MORRIS  
I don't understand it all myself, quite frankly. My background in physics is not as extensive as I would like it to be. Mr. Friedman's research has been kept secret for quite some time now.  
  
  
MICHAEL  
And I care so much about this guy because...?  
  
  
DR. MORRIS  
While being a fantastic scientific genius, Mr. Friedman is, also, currently under the employment of Mr. Vincent Drake.  
  
  
MICHAEL  
Drake as in the crime family Drakes? Mobsters? This pocket-protector guy is working for mobsters?  
  
  
DR. MORRIS  
Scientists will work for pretty much anyone if they're able to receive the needed money to fund their work.  
  
  
MICHAEL (looks at the doc with his last comment)  
What am I supposed to do?  
  
  
DR. MORRIS  
You are to apprehend Mr. Friedman so that he discontinues using funds the government considers stolen for his research.  
  
*Dr. Morris appears as if he wants to say more, but stops himself.*  
  
  
MICHAEL (questioningly)  
That's it? Why is the government so eager to get their hands on this guy now? They've obviously been checking up on him [he holds up the photos] for a while already. Why now? The government wants to get their hands on his research, don't they? Poor Miles, here, works for years perfecting this space-folding thingy while probably shunning all human contact and from the looks of it [looks down at the high school picture] personal hygiene as well just so the big boys in Washington can swoop on in and take it all away from him and use it for themselves?  
  
*A beat.*  
  
  
DR. MORRIS (with a penetrating stare that chills Michael)  
Something like that.  
  
  
MICHAEL  
Okay, just so we're clear.  
  
*The limo stops.*  
  
DR. MORRIS  
We're here. [looks over at Michael]  
He should be in the bottom floor. I'll be waiting.  
  
*Michael gets out of the car. A moment later, he knocks on the window. Dr. Morris leans over the towels to open the window.*  
  
  
MICHAEL (wet again)  
Can I at least have the umbrel-  
  
  
DR. MORRIS (cutting him off)  
No!  
  
  
EXT. WAREHOUSE DISTRICT. *Michael looks up at the large brick building in front of him and enters it. The limo pulls away around the corner.*  
  
  
INT. WAREHOUSE. *Michael walks through a huge, dark storage area, empty except for a few piles of boxes stacked in the middle of the room. The ceiling is one giant skylight, though somewhat dirty, and the rain is heard hitting the glass. Michael spots a staircase near the back of the room and heads toward it.*  
  
  
EXT. WAREHOUSE. *Another stretch limo pulls up to the building.*  
  
  
INT. PROJECT LIMO. *Dr. Morris surveys the new arrival.*  
  
  
DR. MORRIS (as two muscular men step out of the new limo)  
Mr. Wiseman. We have company. Try to hurry it up if you can.  
  
  
INT. WAREHOUSE BASEMENT. *Michael looks ahead at the narrow hallway before him, unsure of which door to go into.*   
  
  
MICHAEL  
That's easier said than done, Doc.  
  
*He listens for a moment, blocking out the rumble of the thunder, and continues down the hallway to the last room on the right side.*  
  
I think I've found him.  
  
  
INT. ROOM FROM TEASER. *Miles is making some entries on the keyboard of a apparatus set up in the corner of the room, a large metal cube connected to a seven foot tall, spiral tubing with a red sphere on its end pointed straight up toward the ceiling. Surrounding the center tube are half a dozen smaller ones, one-third its size. On hearing Michael's entrance, Miles turns around expecting someone else.*  
  
  
MILES  
Who the heck are you?  
  
  
MICHAEL  
Obviously, not Dr. Livingstone.  
  
  
MILES (nervous)  
What are you doing here? What do you want?  
  
  
MICHAEL (making it up as he goes along)  
Mr. Drake sent me.  
  
  
MILES  
I was expecting Frank.  
  
  
MICHAEL  
Frank couldn't make it. He has the flu.  
  
  
MILES  
He looks pretty healthy to me.   
  
*He nods his head toward the door. The two men from the limo are standing in the doorway. They are giants dressed in suits.*   
  
Hello, Frank. Johnny.  
  
  
MICHAEL  
Well, this is a problem. The lines of communication must have gotten crossed somewhere. I mean, why would Mr. Drake send both me and these two lovely gentlemen to see you?  
  
  
FRANK  
Who is this guy? [to Johnny] Do you know this guy, Johnny?  
  
  
JOHNNY  
I don't know this guy.  
  
  
FRANK  
Maybe he's a cop. Could be feds? You with the government?   
  
  
MICHAEL (his expression reveals him)  
Well, I-I-that is to say I...  
  
  
FRANK  
Johnny, frisk'em.  
  
  
MICHAEL (holding up his hands to show he has no weapon)  
Fellows, fellows, hold on now. I'm-When you said government-I just work for the IRS. Mr. Friedman has got himself a nice tax return coming to him this year.  
  
*Frank and Johnny look at each, and Johnny pulls a gun out from the inside of his jacket. Michael kicks it out of his hand, and it slides across the floor. Johnny lunges for Michael as Frank takes out his gun. Johnny pulls Michael to the floor; Michael dodges a few punches before giving a few of his own. He tosses Johnny away from him. Frank is quite taken aback by Michael's ability. Stunned for a moment, he recovers and aims at Michael.*  
  
  
MILES (to Frank)  
NO! You'll hurt the device. It's taken me years to find the correct frequencies.  
  
  
MICHAEL (as he tries to wrestle the gun away by squeezing Frank's wrist)   
I wouldn't...get...too attached...to that thing if I were you.  
  
*Michael loosens the gun from Frank's grip then bends it like rubber. Frank swings at Michael with his left hand, but Michael grabs that fist and holds back the punch. He pushes Frank back on top of Johnny who's coming to on the floor. Michael turns back to Miles, who is desperately trying to collect as many of the papers as he can from the desk. Loud footsteps are heard and voices echo through the hallway. A few agents and Dr. Morris appear at the doorway.*  
  
  
DR. MORRIS  
Everything under control here? [as agents head to the men in the opposite corner]  
  
  
MICHAEL (out of breath)  
Just peachy, Doc.  
  
*Before the agents can subdue him, Frank knocks them back and jumps at Michael, pushing him into the center of the rings of tubes while simultaneously catching some wires with his feet. The red globe on the main tube begins to glow. Miles is lost to what he sees before him. Michael manages to push Frank off, and at that very moment, lightening hits the building. The device begins to surge, overloading. The ring of tubes creates a field of electrical energy provided by the new source of electricity. Michael is frozen to the spot. The lights in the rest of the building flicker on and off a few times, and a zapping noise emanates from the device. The onlookers stare in disbelief.*   
  
  
AGENT #1  
What is happening?  
  
*Miles rushes the circle quickly, before it is too late. At the moment he enters the field, both he and Michael are engulfed in a burst of electrical intensity. In another instant, they are gone.*  
  
AGENT # 1 (looking around)  
Wh-Where'd there go?  
  
  
DR. MORRIS  
Mr. Wiseman! Mr. Wiseman!  
  
  
CUT TO:  
INT. DARK BEDROOM. *It is no longer raining; the night is clear and starry. The room itself can not be completely made out, but it seems vaguely familiar. Michael lies unconscious on the bed on top of the sheets. He's not in Kansas anymore.*  
  
END OF ACT I   
  
  
  
  
  



	3. Act II

Disclaimers: Same as beginning and any baseball stuff is the property of Major League Baseball.  
  
Spoilers: slight mentions to "I've Grown Accustomed to His Face," "Pulp Turkey," "On the Town," "Everybody Who's Anybody" but not in a really significant way.  
  
THE WORLD IS DIFFERENT NOW  
~~~~~~~~~  
  
ACT II  
  
INT. EARLY MORNING. HEATHER'S BEDROOM. *Heather, asleep on her bed, shifts toward the direction of the window. The light wakes her, and her eyes flutter open. From her position on her bed, she looks out the window at the trees, blue sky, and clouds. She pushes the covers off her and stands in front of the window. She seems somewhat puzzled but content. Her attention turns to the door and she walks away.*  
  
CUT TO:  
INT. BEDROOM FROM ACT I. *Michael is seen still lying on top of the bed. His bruises from the fight and energy burst have quickly healed and have left only the faintest of marks. He is in the townhouse, but something is different. The sun shines brightly through the window, sending shafts of light across the floor. A doorbell is heard. Michael comes to at the sound. He stares at the ceiling which is familiar to him.*  
  
  
MICHAEL  
Doc? [he waits for a response] Doc, that strange buzzing sound most people call a doorbell is going off. Should I be worried? Doc?   
  
*He turns on his side and looks at the clock. It reads 8:17. He bolts up in bed at the time and the sight of sun pouring into the room. His mind instantly goes to the events of "I've Grown Accustomed to His Face." The doorbell continues to ring.*  
  
Doc?  
  
*Not looking around, he heads out of the bedroom and down the steps to the front door. He stares at the door, not wanting to break it down, remembering the incessant sirens he knows will go off. The control panel for the alarm system next to the door is noticeably smaller and ADT-like.*   
  
Um...hello? Who's there?  
  
  
DR. MORRIS (O.S.)  
Well, it's about time.  
  
  
MICHAEL (relieved)  
Doc? Is that you?   
  
  
DR. MORRIS (O.S.)  
Who else would be standing out here at eight in the morning?  
  
  
MICHAEL (a bit confused)  
Did you forget your key or something? Or does the government need to invest in one of those hollow plastic rocks that you hide your key in and then leave in the garden?  
  
  
DR. MORRIS (O.S.)  
What are you talking about? Why would I have a key? Let me in already.  
  
  
MICHAEL (even more confused)  
Um, I can't exactly open...the door, I mean...  
  
  
DR. MORRIS (O.S.)  
Why can't you? Don't tell me you forgot the access code again.  
  
  
MICHAEL  
Forgot - um, not exactly.  
  
  
DR. MORRIS (O.S.)  
After pulling me out of that meeting last time, it's a damn good thing I made you give me a copy of the code so we wouldn't have a repeat of that incident.  
  
  
MICHAEL (completely lost)  
Right, Doc. Whatever you say.   
  
*A slip of paper with numbers slides under the door. Michael picks it up, punches it into the side panel, and opens the door. He is met by a smiling Dr. Morris, dressed very casually compared to his use style, holding a rolled-up newspaper in his left hand.*   
  
  
DR. MORRIS (singing with his arms spread apart)  
Good morning, good morning. It's great to stay up late. Good morning, good morning to you.  
  
*Michael stares at him blankly.*  
  
Weren't you wearing that yesterday? [he gestures to Michael's clothes as he walks inside] I realized the memo said casual dress, but it's still an office.  
  
Dr. Morris heads up the stairs, leaving Michael at the open door.  
  
  
MICHAEL  
What?  
  
*He closes the door after a moment and follows the doc. He could not be anymore confused.*   
  
INT. BEDROOM. *The room is comfortable, lived in. There is a TV set near the door, a bookcase teeming with books along the window, clothes heaped in piles around the room. Through the partially open blinds that lead to the terrarium, we see that the gym equipment towards the back is missing. The Doc enters, raising an eyebrow at the mess. Michael follows, incredibly bewildered.*  
  
  
MICHAEL  
Doc, is it just me or is something very strange...going...on [he stops shorts as he sees the change in surroundings, the TV set in particular] Did I miss something? Where was I when this change in procedure took place? Not that I'm complaining, mind you. [eyeing the TV with a smile on his face] Basic or premium?  
  
  
DR. MORRIS  
Are you feeling okay, Michael?  
  
*Michael turns toward Dr. Morris, alarmed.*  
  
  
MICHAEL  
What did you just call me?  
  
  
DR. MORRIS  
Your name. Now are you even close to being ready for work? [as he looks down at his watch, the absence of his copper bracelet is observed] We're supposed to be in the office in a half an hour.  
  
  
MICHAEL (worried)  
You have never - ever - called me by my first name before.  
  
  
DR. MORRIS  
I have been calling you Michael since the first day you came to work for me.  
  
  
MICHAEL  
Work for you? [he can't take this all in] What are you talking about? Where do we work?  
  
  
DR. MORRIS  
Did you hit your head? Did you fall down and hurt yourself?   
  
  
MICHAEL (impatient to know the answer)  
Where do we work, Doc?  
  
  
DR. MORRIS (humoring him)  
At the IRS building downtown. [losing his patience] Now are you going to get changed so that we're both not late for work.  
  
  
MICHAEL (under his breath)  
IRS? [to Dr. Morris] We work for the IRS?  
  
  
DR. MORRIS  
Not if we don't get there on time.  
  
  
MICHAEL  
Is this some new kind of survival training test, to try and get me to think on my toes? Because I'm thinking. [off the doctor's increasingly impatient looks] This is - I - I am still Michael Wiseman, right?  
  
  
DR. MORRIS  
What are you talking about? [more to himself] Can't even remember his own damn name!  
  
*Michael collapses onto the bed. He buries his face in his hands. Suddenly he feels what is left of his bruises, remembering the previous night's events.*  
  
  
MICHAEL (softly and slowly)  
Miles.  
  
  
DR. MORRIS  
Have you gone insane? Your name is not Miles.  
  
*Michael stares up at him with a "I know at least that much" look.*  
  
Okay, I'll assume you have a concussion or a hangover or some other form of brain damage that prevents you from thinking clearly. If we want to get any work done today before our little office excursion, you need to put on clean clothes. Now, Mr. Newman!   
  
  
MICHAEL  
Newman?  
  
  
CUT TO:  
INT. THE DOCTOR'S JAGUAR. *The doc is driving, and Michael sits, still bewildered, in the passenger seat, the newspaper open on his lap. He is dressed casually as well. He continually looks out the window, searching for any obvious changes in the world around him.*   
  
  
MICHAEL (moving around in his seat)  
I haven't been in this car in a while.  
  
  
DR. MORRIS  
You have ridden in this car every morning for the past year. [shakes his head and says slowly] I need some coffee.  
  
  
MICHAEL  
Yeah. Sure thing, Doc.  
  
  
EXT. STREET. *As the car passes by, Michael's attention is quickly drawn to a figure walking on the sidewalk. But before he can make out who it is, the car speeds away. The figure is Miles, staring up at the buildings, completely overjoyed.*  
  
  
CUT TO:  
INT. OFFICE. *The space is filled with cubicles, computers, and other office equipment. Michael and Dr. Morris enter, Michael hesitantly looking around him. He trails behind as the doctor pours himself a cup of coffee. Michael stares down at the plate full of Danishes. Dr. Morris heads over to a cubicle larger than the others. Michael follows, though not before stuffing his face with a raspberry Danish, and notices a nameplate on the ledge of the cubicle - Michael Newman.*  
  
  
MICHAEL (still unsure)  
So this is where I work?  
  
*The doctor is about to say something, but stops as Michael picks up a framed photograph that sits on the desk. It is of a happy little girl, about six years old, dark hair, blowing bubbles. Michael gazes at the picture so lovingly.*   
  
  
DR. MORRIS  
Is she staying with her mother for the holiday weekend?  
  
  
MICHAEL (unable to take his eyes away from the photo)  
What?  
  
DR. MORRIS  
Your little girl. I know you don't get to see her as much as you'd like and...  
  
*Michael is unable to speak. The doctor senses this and quietly says*  
  
I'll be in my office.  
  
*Dr. Morris heads into a glass-windowed office next to Michael's cubicle. Michael sinks into his chair and carefully returns the photo to its place.*   
  
  
MICHAEL  
My little girl.   
  
*He turns to the phone and checks if he can see what the doctor is doing. He picks up the receiver and begins to dial. Before he can get past the area code, a loud voice scares him, and he slams the phone down.*   
  
  
DR. MORRIS (throwing a file down on the desk)  
Michael, we've got a conference in twenty minutes. Do me a favor. Look over this file and be prepared to brief the department heads. [off Michael's perplexed expression] And cheer up. It's Employee Appreciation Day. The fun's only getting starting.   
  
*He leaves Michael, who's thinking the idea of briefing the department heads will be about as enjoyable as fighting Gallagher.*   
  
  
CUT TO:  
EXT. LATER THAT DAY. HIGHWAY. *The doctor's jaguar speeds down the highway heading east.*   
  
INT. THE DOC'S JAG. *The doctor and Michael are in their respectively seats. Michael stares out the window lost in thought. He has been getting it from Dr. Morris as we come in mid-conversation.*  
  
  
DR. MORRIS  
Somehow the disaster you caused at the meeting this morning will be fixed. By you. 'Why don't we talk about this tomorrow?' I can't believe you said that! Philips from Adjustments was going to have your head.  
  
  
MICHAEL  
Doc, how many more ways can I say I'm sorry? Should I try speaking in tongues? [he shakes his head then mumbles] Where's an F train when you need one?  
  
  
DR. MORRIS  
Did you say something? Anyway, you're very lucky half the staff decided not to come in to work this morning because of this afternoon's main event. A complete waste of time if you ask me.  
  
  
MICHAEL  
I don't know. I always liked Employee Appreciation Day. The family barbeques. The company softball team. Co-workers enjoying each other's company outside of work. It was always...nice.  
  
  
DR. MORRIS  
Nice? More like another form of spending taxpayers' dollars.  
  
  
MICHAEL  
Where are we going anyway? The IRS isn't haven't some fancy shindig catered in the park?   
  
  
DR. MORRIS (annoyed)  
You don't read a single memo that goes out, do you? You want to know where we're going? Look out your window. We're here.  
  
*Michael looks out his window and sees...*  
  
EXT. BALLPARK. Actually Shea Stadium to be exact, home of the New York Mets.  
  
  
MICHAEL  
They're not playing the Washington Senators, are they?  
  
  
CUT TO:  
EXT. MEZZIZINE LEVEL SEATS. *Michael and Dr. Morris emerge from the tunnel passageway and enter into the open park. People are everywhere. The game is about to start, and players appear on the field. The crowd cheers. A hotdog vendor passes by and the smell draws Michael's attention. He inhales after it as the vendor walks away. Dr. Morris searches among the seats.*   
  
  
MAN (gesturing from a group in the first row of box seats)  
Theo! Over here!  
  
  
DR. MORRIS (as he and Michael head toward them)  
Mitch, good to see you. [he greets everyone, shakes hands warmly, etc.] Sam. How's the knee? Diane, I wasn't expecting to see you here. I hope Ted and the kids are good. Simon.  
  
*Through all of this, Michael is left standing unsure if he's supposed to know any of these people. Dr. Morris notices.*  
  
  
DR. MORRIS (to Michael through gritted teeth)  
Don't be a wallflower. [to the group] You all know my associate Michael Newman. Michael, [Dr. Morris motions to two young, smiling women seated next to each other] you remember Janine and Debbie from Data Processing?  
  
  
MICHAEL (remembering something else, a smile appearing on his face)  
Data Processing? Hello, ladies. It's nice to see you. Again I guess.  
  
*He and the doctor take their seats. Michael looks out at the field and the game, loving what he sees. Janine, seated to Michael's right, can't stop smiling at him.*  
  
  
DR. MORRIS (turning to Mitch behind him)  
And where are the rest of the minions sitting? I know the government can't afford box seats for everyone.  
  
  
MITCH  
They're having too much fun in the upper decks. Not everyone lives the charmed life like us.  
  
  
MICHAEL   
Well, this is enjoyable. [trying not to look over at the continually smiling Janine] Um, are there any pay phones around here?  
  
  
MITCH  
Inside, by the concession stand.  
  
  
DR. MORRIS (reaching into his pocket)  
Just use my cell phone.  
  
  
MICHAEL (thinks for a moment)  
That's okay. I don't think I could hear in the crowd anyway.  
  
*Dr. Morris looks at him questionably then takes his hand away from his pocket. Michael gets up and walks toward the exit, checking over his shoulder. Dr. Morris is looking back at him.*  
  
INT. CONCESSION STAND AREA. Michael walks past various people. He finds a row of pay phones and reaches in for change.  
  
  
MICHAEL  
At least I finally have a wallet. [he takes out a quarter but before he places it in the slot he stops for a moment, holding the receiver] What do I say?   
  
*He takes a deep breath then drops the quarter in the slot and dials a number. The phone rings three times and then is answered by a voice.*  
  
  
VOICE (O.S.)  
Hello? [pause] Hello?  
  
*Michael hangs up, unable to speak.*  
  
  
CUT TO:  
INT. WISEMAN KITCHEN. *Heather is holding the telephone with a confused look on her face. Lisa is behind her holding her keys.*  
  
  
LISA  
Who was that, honey?  
  
  
HEATHER (quietly)  
No one.  
  
  
LISA  
Okay then. Come on. We're got to get to the store so I can start dinner on time.  
  
*Lisa heads outside. Heather stands by the phone a moment longer.*   
  
  
HEATHER (distractedly)  
Sure, Mom. Whatever you say.  
  
END OF ACT II  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
